Harry Potter and the Shameless Author SelfInsert
by respitechristopher
Summary: Crack!fic, and mediocre at that. Between 5th and 6th year as with all cliche fics , Our Hero strikes out at recruiting Slughorn. So Dumbledore apparates him to Southern California, where he meets the Mysterious New DADA Professor. Hijinks ensue.
1. Chapter 1: Exposition

**Author's Note:** Sara was on the SU's "Fandom Cliché Challenge" thread when she asked for "(_Shameless author self insert character) saves the life of/gets (story character) to fall in love with him/her. Mad hot monkey sex may follow. Other students seeing the absolute magnificence of this character and/or being scared/jealous of his/her awesomeness a bonus."_ So blame this on her.

I'll warn you crackfiends now: I'm horrible at updates. This may be updated, or it may not. I may get bored with this or it may turn into a 64-chapter epic of lulz.

This takes place in the Summer of '96, which is, coincidently, the name of my other love letter to a certain pink-haired fictional character. That was an attempt at serious-ish fic. This isn't. No Tonks in the opening chapter, but I hope you'll stick around nonetheless. And now:

Harry Potter and the Shameless Author Self-Insert

Chapter One: Exposition

Harry was disturbed by the haste with which Mr Slughorn retreated back into the mess of his abode. But he was even more disturbed with the prospect of having to explain to Dumbledore how he had failed.

"Professor, I - I mean, he - "

"That's quite alright now, Harry. It was not an easy assignment I gave you, but then again, the most important ones rarely are," the kindly Headmaster cut off his young charge. "We'll make do, I assure you."

"But how, sir? How will you ever find someone who could take the place of a former Hogwarts professor?"

"Never you mind that, Harry. I think I know of just the person who could help you - er, I mean, help Hogwarts in her hour of need," Dumbledore replied, a mischievous glint eerily visible in his eye. "Just hold on tight, young man. This could be a bumpy ride."

Later that afternoon, Harry explained the odd things he'd seen to Ron up in the twins' room.

"Oh, it was brilliant!" he exclaimed. "First we apparated all the way to California. Then we found the new professor on board this large grey ship. You wouldn't have told that he was a wizard or anything, Ron. He just had the one stripe on his arm, and some coffee and a cigarette like everyone else. Then Dumbledore -"

"That's Professor Dumbledore, Harry. Honestly, boys. You ought to know better." Hermione took a seat next to Ron, while Ginny - who had followed her upstairs - sat down next to Harry. "Now," Hermione continued, "unless you're talking about that tall drink of water that's monopolizing Molly, Tonks and Fleur's time downstairs, this conversation has no relevance to my life today, and as a girl I demand you change the subject now." Hermione punctuated this outburst with a rather self-satisfied huff, which Ginny mimicked.

"Well I am certainly glad that that is precisely what I was talking about, because it certainly would have been awkward for me to have to explain exactly why you can't just order me and Ron around like that like you can other boys. But no need - I'll just continue. Anyway, so Dumbledore whispers something in his ear, and all of a sudden there's a great glow of magic around him - right there on the smoking deck, mind! - and the new professor gets an evil grin on his face. Dumbledore hands him a wand, and that's when things really start to get odd!" Harry took a deep breath while considering how best to describe his adventures in California.

"Interesting?" Hermione asked, her hair-trigger curiosity piqued once again, "How so?"

"Have you ever seen a baby-pink Naval vessel before, Hermione?"

"No," she answered, warily, "but I have a feeling you have."

"It was brilliant!" Harry exclaimed. "He turned the whole bloody ship pink!"

"The whole bloody ship?" Ron echoed.

"Ronald? Language!" Hermione admonished.

"But that's not all," Harry continued. "No. He went up to the missle deck and re-named it - the Lido Deck. Bloody brilliant, what?"

"Bloody brilliant is right, Harry," Ron agreed.

"Language again, Ronald Weasley. How many times do I have to -"

"Bloody buggering hell! How many times do I have to tell you that even if I _did_ fancy birds, I'd - What? What's everyone looking at this time?"

Harry stepped in to save the day. "Never mind, Ron. We'll just have to have a talk with them before we get back to Hogwarts is all." Ginny's eyes opened to the size of saucers.

"We? Harry, you're not - Aaaaaugh!" she shrieked as she was running out of the room. There was a rather awkward pause before Hermione

"Well, now that that's all cleared up, boys, we do need to find out exactly who this new Defence against the Dark Arts professor is. What else can you tell us about him, Harry?"

"Oh, the story's just getting started, Hermione," Harry answered...

"Just getting started you say, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Oh my yes. After the professor was finished with the ship, he confunded the crew and re-wrote his paperwork giving him a retroactive discharge. Then we popped out of there and over to his cottage by the ocean."

Hermione was confused, which is never a good thing to have happen in the middle of a good story. "Wait. You say Dumbledore gave him a wand, right?"

"That's the way it looked."

"So, he didn't have one of his own?"

"Guess not, or else he'd have popped out of there awhile ago, you reckon? Oh, and he would have ditched the woman he was living with, too. Because once we got to his cottage, she started laying into him in not one, but two languages - simultaneously. I think the Malfoys treated poor Dobby better than tha-" There was a pop in the room, and the trio fairly jumped out of their skin until they realized it was merely Dobby.

"Harry... Potter...? You is such a good wizard. You has need of Dobby?"

"I... Oh bugger me."

"Alright!"

"Not now, Ron. Dobby, I didn't call you - honestly. I just mentioned your name whilst telling a tale," Harry told the elf softly.

"Youse remember poor Dobby? The great Harry Potter knows an elf's name? You is the greatest wizard ever, Harry Potter!" Dobby had tears in his eyes as he regarded the young savior of the Wizarding world. He then opened his enormous eyes, tilted his head, and addressed the object of his affection tentatively. "I can haz something to do?" Harry tossed a book at him.

"No, you bloody well can not have something to do. Now scram, you miserable whelp! Scram!"

"Oh, Harry Potter is being kind to be so cruel to an elf! Thank you, Harry Potter. May an elf have another?"

"GET!" Harry shouted, and Dobby popped away after blowing Harry a gentle kiss. "Bloody masochistic freak. Now, where were we - Oh, right. So, the professor's wife had him good and yelled at before he pointed his wand at her and hit her with a Silencio. This at least shut her up long enough for him to tell her that they needed to pack up and go to Scotland, but she wasn't having any of that. She actually sounded eerily like my Aunt Petunia before he gave up on her and stunned her."

"He stunned his own wife? Isn't that - ?" Hermione was very concerned.

"No, she only fell onto the futon. That professor sure is quick with a wand. I overheard him tell Dumbledore - "

"_Professor_ Dumbledore, Harry."

"Right. I over heard him tell _Professor_ Dumbledore, you miserable swotty **, that he'd performed Legilimens on her while she was yelling at him about the magic. Apparently she was afraid that she'd not be able to control him any further, so that's when he made up his mind just to ditch her there in California. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say."

"Ooh, so he's on the rebound, is he?"

"Seems to be, Hermione. But he's far to old for you. 25, according to Dumbledore."

"Really? But he doesn't look a day over 20."

"All that California sunshine, I suppose. Strange thing is, I never did catch his - " Harry was interrupted by the dulcet tones of Molly Weasley hollering up the stairs.

"Golden Trio! Supper!"

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks upon exiting the staircase into the Weasley family kitchen. This specimen of manhood in front of her consumed her entire vision, and was on the verge of consuming her entire soul. His hair was light brown, what little there was of it. His eyes a twinkling blue-green, so that when they caught the light, the colors would dance a tarantella on her heart. Eyes that were care-worn, yet compassionate. Hopeful, but not naive. Eyes that had a tale to tell, if one would be lucky enough to catch but a stanza. Eyes with which he could barely see, as the thick pieces of clear plastic that hid them from all but those who had a true desire in her heart to see them could attest.

His t-shirt was black. Black as the hope of a new moon's light. Black as magic Herself. Black as he took his coffee, Molly would soon find out. It was worn and nearly threadbare, but looked to have borne witness to a hundred adventures, and lain on the floor during a thousand nights of passion. On it, in simple block letters, was a single, solitary word. A word so lonely on the garment that one wanted to stroke it soothingly, telling it that all would be well. Of course, with the shirt on the mystery DADA professor, one would generally want to do that anyway. The word: Ramones. Hermione, being a good girl, had no idea what that word meant, but she was certain that she would repair the lost libraries of Alexandria itself to find out. She was also certain that she would repair the lost libraries of Alexandria itself to find a recipe for Shepherd's Pie, but equally certain that that was besides the point. One day she would know the meaning of this cryptic message, "Ramones," and it would change her irrevocably.

His dungarees were blue. Blue as an F# in a descending c-minor scale - a joke only he understood, but one he used with foolhardy abandon nonetheless. They gracefully hugged - nay, caressed - his slender frame, gathered at the hips in a stout black leather belt. The dungarees ran down his legs like the Niagara River at Niagara Falls, not that Hermione knew this, as she'd never been to either New York or Ontario, but that's how they ran down his legs just the same. They were not so tight that one would be able to tell the mystery professor's religion from outside of them, but what was outside of those blue jeans became less and less significant to the young Gryffindor by the moment. The jeans ended in a pool of denim by his ankles, which, along with his feet, were enclosed in shiny black leather boots, which were adorned with silver buckles.

And that moment's reverie was broken in an instant, when, like a chorus of angels conducted by Caecilia Herself, the mystery professor opened his mouth and addressed Hermione.

"Hi there. It was Hermione, right?" he asked, and time and space collapsed in on each other as she became weak in the knees. She gracefully sat down, squeeked out

"Yes. It's Hermione. From Shakespeare, as I'm sure you're aware," and began to eat her supper, hoping beyond hope that it would provide the nutrients that her body so desperately needed.


	2. Chapter 2: Further Exposition

The evening meal passed uneventfully at the Burrow; the new professor enjoyed his Shepherd's Pie and Treacle Tart, but perhaps not as much as he would have had it not been fed to him by the newly busty metamorphmagus that was sitting on his lap. Tonks was feeding him morsels of ground beef and potatoes, allowing her hair to morph between candy-apple red and baby pink, and doing her best to use her metamorphmagus powers to test the tension rating on the thread that attached the buttons on her blouse to the blouse itself. Harry and Ron played footsie under the table, while Ginny and Hermione were busy plotting how to rid them of this aberrant behavior. Not that they found anything wrong with homosexuality, it just didn't fit in with the plans they'd devised for the boys' lives. Fleur had excused herself after wolfing down a ladleful of the casserole looking to take out some of her restless energy on her fiancée (and this was precisely how she excused herself), while Molly cast enough cheering charms to numb herself from the neck up.

"Ooh, please do tell us about California again," Tonks asked. "You say the sun shines there all the time?"

"Well," the new professor began, "there is that song," and he began to sing "It never rains in Southern California…"

"Oh, what a voice you have, dear." Molly slurred. "I did so want my boys to learn to sing. Only Percy ever did, and you can see where that got us.

"You are too kind, Molly," he replied. "No one's paid me to sing a note in years. Doubt I ever will again, to be honest. But maybe I'll find something up in Scotland."

"Speaking of Scotland, sir," Harry spoke up, "What did happen to you when Dumbledore whispered in your ear?"

"It was the damndest thing, Harry. First I felt this thing wash over me – the way you feel an IV drip invade your veins." The whole table nodded their heads at once, even though none of them had ever been treated by a Muggle doctor in their lives. "Then it was if I was getting a crash-course in life. All of a sudden, everything made sense. Dumbledore said there had been a block on my magic.

"Dumbledore, right," Harry parroted, dodging Hermione's swat. "So, how is it that you know the Headmaster, professor?"

"I didn't, actually," the professor replied, "at least I don't think I had. This is all so - Tonks, why don't you zip that back up and finish that thought when we get back to your place - all so new. I received so much there on the ship - centuries of wisdom, libraries of knowledge, traditions, culture - my brain could barely contain it all. But there is one thing in particular that stuck out."

"I can think of something I'd love to have stick out," Tonks growled, in-between nibbles on the professor's earlobe. The new professor blushed, but continued on.

"Well, yes, but that too will have to wait until later, my dear," the professor replied, swatting Tonks's rear playfully. "Harry, this concerns you. It turns out that you're the chosen one."

The table was shocked into a stunned silence.

Which lasted about long enough for Hermione to get her bearings.

"Oh, really now?" she began, the sarcasm dripping from her voice. "Harry's the bloody chosen one, is he? Is that the big news from our great and mighty Dumbledore? Merlin's sweaty nutsack, but anyone who's made even the barest beginnings at reading the Western mythological canon would have sussed that out in about a minute and a half. If he thinks he can leave you in the dark like that, Harry, and -"

Harry interrupted what was proving to be quite a rant from Hermione. "But, Hermione - "

"Don't you interrupt me, Harry Potter," she growled at him. Just because you're tipped to be the chosen one doesn't give-"

"But I _am_ the chosen one."

Hermione swatted the back of his head with her hand.

"No, really," the Chosen One said in his defense. "Dumbledore told me the prophecy before I left for Surrey last month."

Hermione looked a bit ashamed at her earlier outburst. "Well, yes. I suppose he must have. Oh dear, I must have made rather an ** of myself - and in front of our new professor, too. Please, sir. Don't hold this against me." Hermione bowed her head, a bit ashamed; and if you looked closely, you could see her knees bend ever-so-slightly toward a curtsey.

"Oh, think nothing of it, my dear. And no need to stand on formalities with me, either. Please, you may all feel free to call me - " And before the professor could get that last word out, Tonks had assaulted his mouth with her own, leaving the assembled still rather confused as to how to address their new instructor.

"Well then," the Professor said. "Most of you may call me that. You, however," he continued, addressing Tonks, "are to call me Professor." He punctuated this assertion with a rather jaunty wink in the metamorph's direction and a swat on her rear. "Right. We'll be off, then. Don't quite know when we'll be coming up for air, but I certainly expect to see you all at the sorting ceremony. Mrs Weasley," he continued, getting up from the table (after gingerly removing Tonks from his lap), "thank you for a lovely meal." He kissed the Weasley matriarch's hand as she blushed and giggled. "Lovely to meet the rest of you. Ciao!"


	3. Chapter 3: Mystery Machine

Molly harrumphed loudly as the mystery Professor and Tonks Apparated away. "Well, if I'd been able to blow my tits up to the size of cantaloupe, maybe he'd have spent the night here, instead. Honestly!

"What's that about cantaloupe, love? Did I just miss pudding?" Arthur Weasley asked upon crossing the Burrow's threshold. "And who was that gentleman Tonks was hanging all over?"

"Oh Arthur," Molly replied, "Did you see that spectacle all the way from the garden?"

"Enlarge your bosoms to the size of footballs and I'll see them from there, too," Arthur quipped, then swatted his wife playfully on her rear.

"Arthur, not in front of the children!" Molly giggled, nodding towards the Golden Trio Plus One.

"Come now, Mollywobbles. You know quite well that Ronald's no stranger to a swat on the bum. Just ask Harry."

"Da-ad!" Ginny whinged, not wanting any part of this conversation.

"Oh, honestly, Ginny," Arthur continued, "they're the only three in their year who wouldn't be able to say the same about you."

The kitchen went silent watching a blush bloom across Hermione's face. Ginny dropped her forehead onto the kitchen table.

"Right. The only two, then."

"Oh, Ginevra," Molly said, holding the bridge of her nose with two fingers, "why can't you just be like every other witch in Europe and only have one boyfriend through school? I met your father in fourth year, after all."

Hermione made sure to knock and wait a couple of moments before entering Ron's room later that night. As things among the trio were rather out in the open now, she'd just as well have stayed in Ginny's room, but this was a mystery, so she reckoned she'd better grab Shaggy and Scooby and figure things out. She also reckoned that her recent tacit admission of a fling with Ginny made her the Thelma of the group, which caused her to shudder and swear off the color orange forever.

"I'm coming in," she shouted. "Are you boys decent in there?"

Well, no. No they weren't. But they were sixteen-year-old boys, so blowing farts with their armpits while running around in their pyjama bottoms would have to do. This came to an immediate stop when she opened the door, as Ron began to stare her ominously.

"Ron," Hermione asked, warily. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You..." he stuttered, "Ginny... You..."

"Yes, very well, we were all down there. But with Harry buggering you like a randy shepherd, I'd've thought you'd have no problem with it."

"You..." Ron continued. "Ginny..."

"Harry?" Hermione asked. "A little help here?"

"Well, I think Ron's a bit confused," Harry answered. "He's sworn, as an older brother in an anachronistically patriarchal society, to avenge anyone who'd sully his baby sister's honor." Harry mimed air-quotes around the last word.

"But that's half the school!" Hermione exclaimed. "There's a reason her nickname is 'Cleansweep Weasley'."

"Sure. But as long as he doesn't hear about names, there's really nothing he can do. Anyway, so he really wants to defend Ginny, but his mum'd have kittens if he hexed a girl."

"That's ridiculous. We're about equal duelers; who comes up with this nonsense, anyway?"

"I'm as lost as you are, Hermione," Harry answered. "Just throw him a bone and tell him you won't do anything to hurt her, okay?"

"For goodness sake, Harry. Must I really? It was a one-time thing; I just helped her toss one off behind the - "

"That's enough detail there. A bit much actually. Just talk to the boy, 'Mione - he's nearly worked himself into a trance!"

Hermione did manage to settle Ron down a bit, telling him she only had Ginny's best interests at heart. This calmed things down for a moment, at least, and it was time to crack a mystery once again.

"Right," she said, sitting down on Ron's bed. "Let's take a look at what we have, shall we? A t-shirt with a mysterious - good lord, Ronald. Was that you?"

Ron made a noise somewhere between a snort and a chortle. "I think, Hermione, that she who smelt it, dealt it." This sent Harry into hysterics.

"Okay Ron," he said. "Then he who denied it, supplied it." This sent Ron into hysterics, too, and Hermione waited a good moment or two before sending a _reducto _at Ron's desk chair.

"Wicked," Ron exclaimed. "We needed some kindling to warm the house."

"Right. Now that I have your attention, we need to get to the matter at hand. First, who is this gorgeous hunk of - ahem, I mean - who is this new DADA professor that Dumbledore's found. So far, we know two things about him. First, the t-shirt. Ron, I need you to find out who Ramone is, and why the Professor is wearing his or her shirt. Secondly, Harry. Try to remember as much as you can about your trip to California, and write _everything _down."

"It'd be a bit easier if I had a pensieve. Wait - Ron, does your family have a pensieve I could use?"

"Harry, are you honestly asking the poorest family in all of Wizarding England if we have a pensieve? An object so rare and valuable, that if we sold it, Ginny and I could eat and have new clothes every year?"

Harry looked away sheepishly. "Stupid question, I know, but - "

"Of course we do, mate!" Ron cut in with a jovial slap on the shoulder. "I'll ask Mum in the morning - think she keeps it in the root cellar or something."

"Wicked!" Harry exclaimed.

Hermione, however, had more pressing things on her mind. "Right. Now that that's sorted, I think I should be getting back downstairs. There were a few things I was hoping Ginny could help me go over... 'Night, boys!" she said, running out the door ducking Ron's hexes.


	4. Chapter 4: Oh God, what now?

Meanwhile, back at Tonks's swinging Bachelorette pad in Muggle London...

Tonks and the Mystery Professor collapsed for the eighteenth or so time (they'd long since lost count) onto the mattress on Tonks's bed awash in sweat and whatever passed for morning sunlight in London.

"Jesus Holy-Rolling Christ on a pogo stick, Tonks! Where did you learn how to do that thing with your...? I mean... Wow." The Mystery Professor exclaimed, sporting nothing but a big smile. "We should really get out of bed, though, shouldn't we? It must be 10am at least."

"Mrrmfph... Try 10am on Tuesday. 64 straight hours of indoor Quidditch, and even a metamorphmagus needs to rest her muscles," Tonks replied, sleepily. "But it's your... third? day in London, so I suppose you'd like to see the city?"

"Well, yes. That and we're going to need to eat sooner or later, I suppose. Okay, up and at 'em. I might be magic, but you know I can't conjure supper!" The professor gave Tonks a playful swat on her behind. She grumbled a little, wiped some sleep from her eyes, and began to climb out of bed. She got as far as one foot on the floor before giving up and falling backwards onto the mattress.

"Can't. Move. Legs hurt too much," she moaned, and laid on her back looking at the ceiling. The Professor had a look of concern on his face.

"Oh dear. Where does it hurt, Tonks?"

"Hammies. Both of 'em. Oh, and my shoulders, from being tied to the - Oh, just give me a moment, I'll be fine."

The Professor climbed back onto the bed. "Here, spin over," he said, rolling Tonks onto her stomach. "Let me take care of that for you." As he began to massage her back, Tonks tried to stopped him.

"Wait - that's - ooh, that's just lovely. But it's really not a good idea. We'll never get out of here if you keep - oh my - doing that."

"Yes we will. And you'll feel better for it, too. Here..." And the mystery professor continued on down to the backs of her thighs; Tonks's protestations sounding more and more like greatful moans of relief from the muscle ache as he went along. About five minutes later, she rolled back over and sat up, facing him.

"Merlin's taint, that feels so much better. Let's - " Tonks stopped a moment, having given the Professor a good look.

"Are you sure you're not a metamorphmagus, too?" she asked.

"Yeah, I think so. I mean, I'd know, right? Why d'you ask?"

Tonks smiled mischieviously. "No reason. But you know what? I think brekkie can wait another hour or so, don't you?" She didn't wait for a reply before pushing him back down onto the mattress.

Meanwhile, back at the Burrow...

"Ronald, where have you been, young man?" Molly chided as her son banged his way through the Burrow's kitchen door. "And what in Merlin's name have you done to your - to your everything? Ronald, is that a ring through your nose?"

Ron gave his mother a two-fingered salute in response and bounded up the stairs, the thumps created by his Dr. Marten boots resonating through the house. He got to his room, where Hermione and Harry were poring over newspapers from California, looking for any stories about a pink Naval vessel that might provide them with clues as to the Mystery Professor's identity. Ron took a time-turner off from around his head and flung it down onto the bed between them.

"Ronald, you're - you're home?" Hermione said, taken a bit aback by her friend's appearance. Harry still had his nose in a back-issue of the Los Angeles Times.

"Well then, mate," Harry said. "Did you find anything out about this Ramone chap?"

"Yes, yes of course," Hermione said. "Ramone. And then maybe you tell us about the dreadlocks, alright?"

"Dude," Ron began. "It was fucking awesome. They're a band, see, and I heard where they were playing - out in the middle of this fucking cornfield in bum-fuck Indiana or something. So I made a port-key and went there, after I stole your time-turner, which everyone thought was really punk-rock. Me stealing it, that is, I didn't tell them what it was. Anyway, so I ported to Indiana, and all these kids looked so different than me, so I changed my appearance a bit, 'cause there aren't any underage magic laws in Indiana - _what-what_?! Then I found some guys and told them I wanted to see the Ramones, and they were all like "ch-yea, but you can't get in to Lollapallooza, it's totally sold out" and I'm like "whatever, bitches, I can get in anywhere I fucking want," so I went. Three fucking days of the best bands you've ever heard, man. And the Ramones were just, like, incredible. Still the best punk-rock band ever."

"So that's it, then," Hermione said, still a bit slack-jawed. "It's just a bloody band shirt."

"Langugage, Hermione," Harry chided. He ducked when he saw a leather-bound editiion of _Hogwarts, A History_ flying toward his head.

"I've got it!" Hermione said with a squeak after flipping through the Lifestyle section of the Times. "We could go there ourselves and see if anyone has any idea who that was. Oh, wouldn't that be great, boys? A trip to California! Sunshine, movie stars! Oh, and where the professor lived looked like just the most darling little neighborhood!"

"You'd think, right?" Harry replied. "Sure, but it was overrun by dirty hippies selling their possessions for pot money."

That put a damper on Hermione's enthusiasm. But not on Ron's.

"Oh, right. That reminds me. I know what we could do instead. We could smoke this two-ounce bag of weed I brought home from Lollapalooza and get real high."

Ron began to roll joints for the three of them before Hermione interrupted.

"Ronald, honestly," she said. "Your grass is too tight and your paper is too loose. Give that to me. And hand me a card."


End file.
